


Escapism

by IViv



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 02:02:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3191333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IViv/pseuds/IViv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the summer of 1997. Bond comes to Hong Kong hoping for an escape from familiarity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Escapism

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plingo_kat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plingo_kat/gifts).



> This is a 2015-00Silva gift exchange fic for the lovely plingo_kat.
> 
> Special thanks to my dear beta, tumblr user: comorbidities. She is as lovely as always.

007 of the British Secret Intelligent service was _not_ sentimental.

Surly there is no reason to even suggest such a thing.

In general, agents of MI6 were strictly hand-picked. A tedious selection process has long been established to weed out the weaker applicants. Specific traits were key: compliance, loyalty, respect for authority. Physical attributes tend to be of lesser quota since it was understood that in their line of work, psychological qualities were rarer and far more beneficial to the cause.

It prevents the agents from becoming a rather _risky_ problem in and of themselves later on.

It has become a well-established fact within MI6 that agent 007 was loyal to the cause- to M beyond doubt. The ‘double-O’ prefix itself symbolises his role as a senior operational officer, a member of the ultra-covert black ops unit. It indicates his discretionary licence to kill in the performance of his duties. A title viewed with great respect, seen as an extraordinary honour granted to individuals who have earned their right to join the very best.

It was a shot at eternal glory.

However, few saw the man that stood behind the flawless persona of agent 007. His name had grown to symbolise an extension of his code. When people heard _James Bond_ he was agent 007 of MI6, one of the greatest there ever was. His suave persona was often used as a weapon in and of itself, blended together with his eagle aim and unparalleled reflexes in a lethal concoction that crafted a living legend.   


Few, or close to none saw him as James Herbert Bond, son of Andrew Bond and Monique Delacroix. Bond himself was not one to publicise his past. He rarely acknowledges that he even _had_ a past. When people query out of curiosity he tends to brush it aside or shrewdly change the subject, for his past was less than glorious. It brings back unpleasant memories of isolation, being orphaned at such a young age, expulsion from school, mysterious disappearance of the man whom he used to consider his second father, the list goes on.

The young James Herbert Bond resembles nothing of the old, tired agent 007. The man who would sit for extended periods inside his rented apartment in London, glass of scotch in hand while he contemplates life. That youthful energy had long evaporated from him, much like the shimmering charcoal remains of a once well-lit hearth.   


Despite how much he loathes the past, Bond sourly admits that had the events not unfold precisely as they did, he would not be the same man he is today.

Worn, bitter, lonely- yet impossibly experienced. His years spent serving Queen and Country had gained him an incredible set of skills. Who was he to say that the past didn’t have its merits?

The same, however cannot be said in light of recent events surrounding his ancestral home. As far as Bond is concerned, having experienced those roaring years in the nineties only complicated things.

His gaze focused hazily in the distance, memory drifting back to the days when the hair of a certain blond was still the shade of familiar chestnut brown.

Things have changed. _People_ have changed.

He is not the once blindly patriotic, if not somewhat ignorant youth that he used to be. No one knows of their supposedly non-existent past. After all he was ‘on vacation in Hawaii, enjoying the sun’. The pair themselves gave away no indication of having previously known each other, yet the connection between them was ever present.

There will be people whose presence remain constant throughout life, but never ignite the faintest spark of interest. Then there will be strangers who goes fleeting by, yet their presence lingers. Much like getting behind the wheels of a sports car for the first time. Before hitting that first adrenaline rush it's impossible to imagine how fast one could go, how exhilarating it'd make them feel. The standard issue automobile would never feel the same. It becomes a chore, driving to work at fifty miles an hour, the previously mellow activity now mind-numbingly dull.

And that is what Silva, no- _Tiago_ was to him in those years. That intoxicating high, a born racer’s first Ferrari, a drug addict’s next dose.

James Bond’s life was filled with disappointments, Tiago Rodriguez simply happens to be one of them that was still capable of coming back to haunt him.

Bond stares into his now empty scotch glass.

If he was reminiscing then he was surly getting too bored for his own good. He quickly flung on a coat then left the apartment.

 

 

 

 

\----------

 

 

 

 

_Hong Kong 1997,Yau Tsim Mong District_

A man sits alone in a street-side food stall. He had on plain clothes and ordered enough barbeque skewers for himself. He ate in silence, oblivious to the hectic cries of vendors around him. Gaze shielded by a pair of pitch-black aviator sunglasses, none of the sales people loitering the area dared to bother him. It was difficult to tell his social standing due to his plain attire. There has long been speculation of a change in Hong Kong’s political standing. People were talking about a possible handover and Hong Kong losing its status as British Colony. The nineties were a period of change, it was of unspoken understanding that the Westerners were to be left alone. The extra coin wasn’t worth it.

Bond was content enough being left to his own devices.

To be blatantly honest, he had no purpose here in Hong Kong. He wasn’t on a mission, official documents currently inside MI6’s drawers would suggest he’s on vacation in Hawaii. It was a last-minute change of mind. He has been to the warm-weathered islands a couple of times, he felt like escaping familiarity for a change.

Hence he was sitting on a plastic stool, in a street-side food joint eating skewers all by himself, when he could’ve been drinking punch, lounging on a sun-chair somewhere with fine sand beneath his feet. So far nothing interesting has turned up, considering that this was going to last another month he is hoping that would soon change.

He paid his bills. His Cantonese was shabby but he could get by with it. He was about to leave when he spotted a man looking anxious across the narrow, cluttered street. The weather was beginning to heat up off the shores of mainland China, however the man was sweating a bizarre amount, the moisture already wetting his off-white shirt at the armpits and behind his neck. Bond stopped abruptly for a moment then did a sharp turn to head for the fridge instead, the shop keeper surveyed him but did nothing as he went to sit back down.

The man had a couple of carps tattooed down an exposed segment of his arm. It was a popular choice in the orients, Bond mused. Especially amongst Traid members.

He was obviously waiting for someone, Bond intends to find out who. Another few minutes passed and the young man received a phone call which he fumbled to answer. Mobiles were scarce back in the nineties, they were the size of a brick and weighed about the same. Ordinary people rarely _saw_ one let alone own one, the fact that this man seems to have one in his procession confirms Bond’s previous suspicion.

Couple of moments later and the man was on the move, Bond tailed loosely behind him. He is well-aware of the fact that whatever reasonable activity one was supposed to engage in during vacation, _this_ was definitely not it.

But no one can blame him, he’d just sat through twelve months of highly specialized espionage training for his upcoming employment in MI6. He was deemed ready for duty after his return from this rather ‘compulsory’ holiday. Letting off some steam they say. Before that he’d already worked for government intelligence all his life. He can’t help it if his hands _itch_.

The man had what looked like a woven rice sack flung over his shoulders. Tailing him was painfully easy. The bustling Hong Kong harbor soon came into view. Fisher men, deck-hands, business men and all sorts of in-between professions filled the docks. The placed smelled of cigarette smoke and deteriorating fish bits, Bond had no difficulties imagining what it’d smell like in full-blown summer.

After a few run-in’s he momentarily lost the man. The next time he caught sight of him the man was conversing with a fellow Westerner. Said man is immaculately dressed, common suit of the nineties were often lose fitting and did little to complement the wearer’s figure. His, however, were undoubtedly custom tailored. It clung to him, showing off his broad shoulders and masculine form. He wore black aviator sunglasses, much like Bond. Though they were a few tints lighter, Bond could just manage to make out the man’s well-proportioned eyes.

They appear to be _dealing_.

 _Well. If this isn’t too easy._ Bond sarcastically remarks to himself as he plants himself in the crowd a couple of yards away.

He clearly doesn’t have authority to operate in this part of the world. Tailing the man was the result of complete boredom after all, so he was having a quiet inner debate with himself. He could either apprehend the stash then drop it off anonymously before a police station, or he could tail them further and see if it leads him back to their hideout.

Now the problem would be what to do with that information. Foreign police tend to be less than thrilled when agents of other nationality operate cross-border, especially amidst such delicate political situation. He could do absolutely nothing, and treat this like another exercise to sharpen his skills, only with unknown variables. Then the question comes down to which one he should tail: the Asian man will most likely bring him back to the Triad. The Westerner, on the other hand, could be interesting since it had the potential to expose Western trade groups…

Bond’s thought was abruptly cut short as he did another quick glance to make sure the two men were still talking. The Asian man had his back to him, the Westerner however, was looking _directly_ at him and _smiled_.  


He even gave a little wink to conclude their eye contact. 

Seconds after the wink he handed over a briefcase in exchange for the rice sack. The two man then went their separate ways. Bond had a split second to make his decision, he tailed the well-dressed man without hesitation.

Bond trailed his quarry along the edge of the docks, narrowly avoiding on-coming crowds. Fisher men were boarding the platform with fresh catch. Sea life struggled in nylon netting , water dripped through worn wooden planks and back into the sea beneath.

The man moved fast, faster then what should be possible given such conditions. Bond himself was well-accustomed to cutting through crowds, but the man sliced through them as if they were butter. Bond was quickly losing him, he struggled to keep up with the man nearly out of sight. He hadn’t found himself this helpless in years, he had always excelled in training, often out-preforming agents that were years his senior. Missions went smoothly too, it’d be safe to conclude that Bond has never meet a challenge ever since he left the confines of secondary school and joined service.

Another group of construction workers passed. Bond was momentarily blocked off then found the opportune moment to hurl himself over a piece of steel they were carrying. Workers cursed behind him, but Bond ignored them. He stood in place, searching in all directions.

He had lost him. On a bloody dock with nothing to hide in.

Silent curses were muttered, then in a fortuitous moment of timely luck a gap opened in the crowd. There he was, standing in the open, no attempts were made to secure his escape. He even had the indecency to look _bored_.

This made the previously simmering anger within Bond rupture with frustration.

 _He_ was the best. _He_ did the toying.

If the blasted man wanted to use the crowd to his advantage then _two_ can play that game. Bond carefully maneuvered himself around the people, positioning himself precisely so that he was shielded by them. Subtle attempts were made to close-in on his prey. He was getting close, but not close enough. Just as he was about to make a leap for it, a merchant pushed past him with his cart.

To Bond’s resentment, as soon as his view was cleared the man was on the move again.

They were at this for another thirty minutes, under the irritating mid-day sun with no shelter to hide from. Bond had already taken off his cardigan and carelessly tossed it aside. The man ahead of him was also sweating enough that he took off his suit jacket. This triggered a mild sense of satisfaction for Bond as he knew he had given the cocky arse a damn good workout.

They were covering quick ground, the chase continuing from one side of the dock to the other. The man stopped as he neared the edge of the water and turned enthusiastically.

“Well! If you’d look at that! _I’m caught_. Quite an impressive chase you lead there Mr…?”

“Bond. James Bond.” He planted his feed firmly on the wooden planks, just in case after all this effort the man was going to pull a gun on him. Bond doubted that he would, but it never hurts to be cautious.

The man took off his sunglasses in one clean sweep and surveyed Bond with striking green orbs. He ran a hand through his chestnut colored hair.

“You know, I’m rather impressed with you. Not a lot of agents can pull that off. Now I suppose you want your prize…” He gestures towards the rice sack.

Before Bond had any time to respond, the man hurled the sack into the sea as far as he could. Whatever filled the sack was heavy and it sunk quickly. Bond’s well-training reflexes triggered instantly and he dived after it, the man’s laughter booming at his back.

The sack was at least ten yards away from him, Bond could feel oxygen being squeezed out of his lungs as he swam deeper and deeper to retrieve it. His body was under heavy stress and his ears rang from the sudden shift in pressure. The water was muddy, but he was close enough to regain visuals of the sinking sack, his hands reached for it in a barely visible blur.

Bond resurfaced and gasped greedily for air, as oxygen refilled his body Bond shook away the light-headedness and swam for the docks. What awaited him was not what he anticipated.

There stood at least a dozen officers armed and aiming towards him, his adversary waved for one of them to go cuff him. The sack was taken off Bond and handed to the man now speaking Cantonese with other officers. As Bond was being guided towards a police vehicle he could see the man mouthing a poorly concealed:

“ _Well done._ ”

 

 

 

 

\----------

 

 

 

 

_9.45pm, unknown location (presumably a police station), Yau Tsim Mong District_

 

Bond had been kept waiting for quite a while now.

He was cuffed behind his back and sitting in a wooden chair. If he wanted to he could break free in an instant, destroy the blindingly obvious security camera, then knock out the guard that was standing duty at the door and make a run for it.

Except he doesn’t, so far his actions could even be deemed as strictly cooperative. He wanted to see _that_ man again.

The doors to the tiny holding cell opened with a soft creak, in walked the previous green-eyed agent that Bond was so intrigued with, along with a red-headed man whom Bond took as his associate.

“My apologies for the delay, the debriefing was as dull and tedious as always. If it was up to me I’d abolish the whole thing altogether, but unfortunately I haven’t climbed the ladder far enough. Not _yet_ , anyway.”

“001.” His colleague spoke in a tone of warning.

The man gave a few innocent blinks, which didn’t nearly come off as apologetic.

“Now I can return my full attention to our wondering little rat- Mr. _Bond_.” It didn’t take long for Bond to conclude that he didn’t like the way his name rolled off the man’s tongue.

“I assume you’d be wondering what this place is or who I am by now.” The two men moved to sit opposite him, both setting a file onto the surface.

“It’s not exactly hard to _guess_. Professional code names, ties with local police, plus I’d recognize that badge anywhere. This is MI6 isn’t it, _001_.”

_Oh, the irony._

He was rewarded with a round of applause, though only one agent really did the clapping.

“Station H, Hong Kong. I can see why you were trusted with information considerably above your clearance level.” 001 flipped through Bond’s training record.

“Placement within the 030 Special Forces Unit, then recruited by the RNR Defense Intelligence Group, awarded the rank of commander, then recruitment by MI6 at only 30 years old- I must say I’m impressed, Mr. Bond.”

“What doesn't change, is the fact that you were interfering with official MI6 operations.” The previously silent red-head agent interrupts.  
  
“That was months of undercover work on 001's behalf you could have blown. You should be jailed for this incident. Your clearance level clearly indicates that you have no authority to act independently from headquarters, even if you do the London branch has no business here in Hong Kong. The political road we tread here is a delicate one- and we do _not_ appreciate your brash actions.”  
  
“And what on earth were you thinking 001?” He exclaimed, suddenly turning to address his bored looking colleague.   
  
“That sack contains crucial evidence we need to convince authorities that the Huang Long clan had been involved in drug trafficking, yet you tossed it into the ocean in a wild gamble- what in the name of the Queen would you have done if he didn't retrieve it in time?”  
  
“Yet he did retrieve it in time. And we managed to apprehend him without a nasty brawl. That would have been rather uncivilized, we ought to do better, don't you think?” 001 surveyed Bond who was watching them bicker with amusement.   
  
“He's such a bright young man- pinched from Defense Intelligence like a pup eager to please. Why don't you let us have some alone time Tom, call it a day early. _My treat_.”  
  
The red-head seems clearly agitated by 001's irreverent response.  
  
“You're going to just set him lose aren't you? Have you forgotten- oh never mind it's a lost cause with you.” Tom packed up his things and quickly left the holding cell like there were horrible things threatening his health.  
  
“Just make sure I have no part in this when it all blows up in your face. If M ever asks, I've never seen him before for the life of me.”   
  
Then the two were left to themselves.   
  
“There were roughly six pounds of cocaine sitting in that sack, and I have you to thank for recovering the evidence. I understand that this would have been your first operation. Congratulations, Mr. Bond, we should toast to that.” 001 comments rather enthusiastically.  
  
“It seems to me that you did all the investigation, the dealing, the running, and the screw up. Which raises the tantalizing question of what you really want with me, now that your... partner is gone.”  
  
“Oh Tommy? Please. I could use someone with a little more life left in them. It's horribly draining you know, desk jobs.”  
  
001 absently flipped through a few more pages before tossing the folder towards Bond.  
  
“All that promise, it would be a real shame if what happened today got to the wrong ears.”  
  
“And I suppose you could do something about that.” Bond States flatly, giving away no indication of biting the bait.  
  
“Of course. I am 001, there are certain privileges that comes with the title. If you wanted, our little meeting could've never happened. Did you know we can connect computers to the internet wirelessly now? It all has to do with signals and radio transmission, but if you wanted, it could be easily broken into and tampered with. Point and click, _beep_ and the information is eliminated. Tommy, for instance insists that you've never existed. You heard the man yourself.”  
  
Bond studies the agent opposite him, his expression came off as nothing but sincere. Bond can't help but wonder if they were trained by the same program.

Theoretically it shouldn't be possible. Times change, systems were perfected. The man didn't look a great deal older. He had a full head of chestnut colored hair, they were soft- unstyled as they were the curvy strands bounced playfully above his forehead, occasionally falling into his eyes like mischievous children.

Now that Bond was closer he could study the man's face in greater detail. His skin was untarnished in a way that middle-aged agents had no right to be, his body is toned evenly by what must have been decade’s worth of healthy eating and stable exercise.   
  
But he had already worked his way to become a 00. The fact alone stands testimony to the years that must've gone fleeting by. Bond himself wouldn't mind looking like this, ten years down the track. People back home all knew he only had one goal: to be the best there is. If being the best meant that he needs to become a 00, then so be it.  
  
“There's always a catch. What is it?”   
  
001 seems to ponder the question with caution, but when he looked up the next moment all hints of seriousness where gone.  
  
“When does your holiday end, James? Do you mind me calling you James?”  
  
“It's considered social protocol to state one's own name before attempting to familiarize others. I have thirty days.”  
  
001’s expression was one of mock hurt.   
  
“My apologies. As you already know I go by the codename 001. But you can call me Tiago. _Tiago Rodriguez._ ” He stood and quickly made his way around the table to free Bond from his cuffs.

“Hong Kong is a lovely place. I’m sure you’ll come to appreciate her charms.” A piece of paper was pressed into his hands. Before Bond could inquire he was escorted out of the cell.

“It’s also an awfully small place. I’m sure we’ll meet again, _James_.”

 

 

 

 

\----------

 

 

 

 

“Excuse me sir… _Excuse me!_ ”

Bond blinked.

“That would be nine quids.” The checkout lady was eyeing him strangely. Bond quickly banished the image of Tiago from his head and fished out his wallet. The lady crammed his change into his hand and was visibly relieved to be rid of him.

Bond re-entered his vehicle and set aside his breakfast.

It didn’t matter how long ago that particular memory was, he could always recall it with alarming clarity. It had been a while since Bond experienced that sort of failure. Tiago had him completely in his grasp that day. Of course the man had already became a 00 agent, a title that would take himself another eight years to obtain, but the humiliation was still there.

He had called the number on that piece of paper the next day. It turned out to be Tiago’s home phone. They arranged a time to meet and from there things quickly escalated out of control. Tiago taught him an awful lot, things that Bond wasn’t sure could be taught made sense when it was Tiago who said it. Soon enough lectures and practice sessions in private couldn’t satisfy them anymore.

Bond began going on operations _with_ Tiago. It caught an unbelievably small amount of attention since 001 was infamous for working alone. He was qualified for both field and technical operative, something that wasn’t even possible anymore when Bond himself became a 00.

Sure, he had back up stationed somewhere close should he ever need them, but Tiago would tell Bond where they were and how to avoid them. Technology was still grossly under-developed, mostly it was just them going in blind.

Time flew when they were together. Bond once asked Tiago over a drink, why he was doing this. Why would he teach him things that would never be taught in the academy, why would he take him out on real missions at his own risk?

At first Tiago didn’t respond. Then he simply made a comment on how much Bond reminded him of his own youth. But Bond knew there was more, much _much_ more.

 

 

 

 

\----------

 

 

 

 

“Ever wondered what the company you’ll soon work for looked like on the inside?” Tiago asked Bond one day, absently, over breakfast.

“Excuse me?” Bond looked up from his congee.

They had fallen into the easy routine of eating at Tiago’s before they’d go engage in other activities for the day. Tiago’s apartment was impressive, something Bond had expected judging from a 00 agent’s pay check. The furnishings were of a modern, minimalist style. A study with several desktop computers wired together was all that stood out of the norm. Bond would find himself consciously search for more personalized pieces - things that differentiate a showroom from a home, before coming to the conclusion that they were either missing or hidden, very, very well.

“They still keep their training grounds separate from headquarters don’t they, over in London? After training I worked there for five years before transferring to Hong Kong. I’ll never be able to show you the London branch, but I can show you Station H, it’s close enough.” Tiago said putting another steamed dumpling into his mouth.

That immediately sparked Bond’s interest.

“I don’t suppose that’s in compliance with regulations.”

“Not even remotely.” Tiago eyed the soy sauce, urging Bond to pass it over.

“But few things fun are _ever_ in compliance with regulations. It’s already tightened up so much over the years, take advantage of if while you still can James. I’m sure _mommy_ wouldn’t mind.”

“Mommy?” Bond raised his eyebrows, catching the new term.

“Yes, _mommy_. Woman who I owe my career to. Fearsome commander, highly respected doyenne- if you are lucky we might even catch her in today.” Tiago rose and dumped the dishes into the sink, Bond followed. He was getting used to this, ridiculously cheap breakfast, right downstairs too.

“But first we should get dressed. It’ll be your first day in, you’d want to look the part.” He handed Bond a garment bag by the hangers.

“Custom tailored, pressed and dry-cleaned. My treat.”

 

 

 

 

\----------

 

 

 

 

Bond never really got the point of these ridiculously expensive, easily damaged suits. Sure, Tiago looked dashing in them, but they were so fragile, and offered virtually no protection in _any_ hostile situation, yet Tiago _insists_ that he must keep true to the tradition.

 _James, being a 00 is the highest rank an agent could hope to obtain, presentation is key. Look at yourself. Doesn’t your reflection fill your heart with an odd sense of self-righteousness? You look so proper, hold such elegance. We are justice, and the embodiment of justice must be_ perfection _._

Tiago’s departing speech rang inside his ears. Bond attempts to stretch his shoulders but the unforgiving fabric holds true to its slim cut. Tiago had made a spot-on guess with his measurements.

Bond lets out a frustrated sigh.

“What’s the matter? You can’t already be tired of serving Queen and Country.” Tiago teases. “Try to relax and let the costume guide you. Life is a _show_.”

How easy it had been for Tiago to say those lines. He pushed open the front entry, then greeted everyone with such a warm, charming smile that made it genuinely impossible to dislike the man.

Bond, by association was treated with the same respect. He was cleanly-shaven and dressed immaculately, confidence radiated from him like heat from a flame. It was absurd, how easy it was to simply _walk_ into one of the most secure organizations in existence.

Of course, Bond suppose anyone who’d want to do harm wouldn’t have a 00 agent as their lead, but Bond had no identifications, no cover-story, he wasn’t even on official payroll. Yet there he was, walking behind 001 like a senior with decades of experience beneath his belt.

Tiago gave the occasional commentary, and they toured the place in less than an hour. It wasn’t a very grand building at all, yet the secrets it held would cost the lives of countless to protect. Bond himself would likely give his life to serve this very organization, and he was ready.

If he’d only knew then the betrayals, the deceit and anguish that would follow.

“Well, look at that! Today’s your lucky day James.” Just as they were exiting the building Tiago stopped by the atrium and spotted a petite, dark haired woman a level below them.

“That’s M, head of operations around here. Short for _mommy_.” That was the first time Bond laid eyes on her, the woman that would later muddle everything into a horrendous fuck-up.

She was nothing extraordinary by first look, however one could pin-point straight away that she had been in a position of superior command long enough for her to develop an air of solemnity. She had a humourless look to her otherwise pleasant, pointed face.

Judging from her current expressions she was far from pleased, there was too much distance between them for Bond to catch any conversation, but Bond could tell she was giving the few agents surrounding her a tough lecture.

“Oh! Bad day in the office? _Poor mommy_ , the fools often give her such a hard time.” Tiago casually checked his reflection in a polished piece of glass.

“Stay put, I’ll be back.” Then without another word he was making his way around the atrium.

Baffled, Bond contemplates his next best course of action. He didn’t have long before he caught something move in the corner of his eye.

“It’s rather rude to lurk in the backdrop of one’s personal space, despite your best intentions I’m sure.” What was his name again? Tim? Tom?

 _Tommy_. Bond dully recollects. _Though it’s probably safer to go with Tom._

“What do you think you are doing here?” Bond had only meet him once before in that holding cell with Tiago, he’d forgotten completely about him. It was strange to see the man feel so strongly towards him despite their short encounter, Bond suspects it had more to do with _how_ he managed to get in here, as opposed to why.

“Enjoying the atmosphere.” Bond deadpans.

“You have no clue what kind of dangerous situation you’ve gotten yourself into-” The red-headed agent exclaims in frustration.

“No one sees him for what he is. 001 is a loose cannon, if it wasn’t for his damn charisma he’d be infamous for having a shameless disrespect for authority. It isn’t the first time he’s pulled something like this- entertaining himself at other’s expense. You are going to get yourself killed and _thank_ him for it.” Across the atrium Tiago has already managed to disband the crowd. The lady- M as she is known by was having a quiet discussion with him, previous tension gone from her features.

“She always had a soft spot for him.” Tom spoke, his voice a faint whisper.

“Job openings are very rare in organizations like this, I was granted access to Station H two years ago. It was a simple desk job, nothing too significant.” Bond’s view was still firmly fixed onto the pair across the atrium, but Tom could tell he was listening.

“The reason I got the job was rather peculiar, my predecessor in the position died of a gas explosion. He lived in a run-down flat, the facilities had been under-maintained for years so while everybody was shocked, no one suspected anything. But then I remembered, just days before the incident he had a discussion with me over dinner. We talked about work, the hand-over, he mentioned something rather unsettling about 001.”

Bond levelled his gaze with Tom, he looked straight into the man’s eyes. The intensity of the gaze caused Tom to look away, but only in a timid manner.

Bond could tell he wasn’t lying.

“He said he used to work for Q branch, and that 001 was familiar with the branch because he, too, qualified for technical operative. Now equipment has been missing from Q branch for years now, and I have absolutely no proof of any of this, but I think my predecessor was _murdered_ because he found out that it was 001 who stole the equipment.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Bond huffed. “He is a 00, paid handsomely for his job. Why would he steal things he could easily get his hands on?”

“You have no training regarding this field _do you_? The parts we are talking about aren't some cheap hard drives that you can go fishing out of local appliance stores. We are talking about state-of-the-art technology, specialised tracking devices, mainframe components- there are only a handful of companies around the world capable of producing these parts. They keep a strict schedule on what goes in and out of their warehouses, and only sells to authorised buyers- mostly government intelligence, not even 001 could manage to obtain them directly from the source.”  
  
“Alright. Let's suppose for a moment that he did steal the parts.” Bond shrugs, not giving this as much thought as he should.  
  
“What would he want with them?”  
  
Tom visibly concedes.  
  
“That's the thing. That's why I need your help.”  
  
Bond must admit that the turn of events today were not what he expected at all.  
  
“You don't have to do this. I have nothing to offer in return, but if anything I said today reached your ears then you'd know that he is a dangerous man, who has managed to get his hands on some very advanced technology.  
  
“You are an agent. Isn't that what you do best: lying and spying? Dig around, see what you find. You can either prove his innocence and I can rest assured knowing that I was over-thinking, or find the stolen parts, which in that case I'd have no choice but to report him.”  
  
Bond ponders the suggestion. The general competence of Station H operatives would surly come under scrutiny, if Tom is reduced to outsourcing a hardly qualified agent like himself to solve their in-house dilemma. Though it does make sense to some extent that Tom had chosen him. He came to Hong Kong with no strings attached, his only held the best interest for Queen and Country, and he had obviously already gained Tiago's trust- no, correction: his favour. Agents of his standing rarely trusts anyone, if at all.  
  
All that was asked of his was to investigate Tiago's apartment, which Bond was sure he'd find nothing of value there. Tiago’s a shrewd operative, even if he did steal the parts he’d have either sold them or used them to craft mainframes long before now.

Perhaps Tom was also silently praying for that outcome. The death of his predecessor clung to him like a looming dark cloud, he needed an excuse to sweep the thought under the rug.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Bond concludes.

With those final words the men parted ways.

 

 

 

 

\----------

 

 

 

 

Never once did it occur to Bond that the activities they engaged in that summer could be loosely categorized as cheating. He was a new recruit fresh from the training grounds, and had no achievements yet that could bargain for one-on-one training with the best MI6 has to offer.

Especially when he was aiming to become a 00 himself. It was an unfair advantage, but as the psychiatrists of MI6 had put pen to paper: he had a “pathological rejection of authority”, who could blame him?

Now that Bond thought about it, every reaction he caught from Tiago regarding M had been either fore-boding or troublesome if interpreted correctly. The way he’d look at her, it was far from what was considered appropriate, even if one takes Tiago’s gloomy childhood into account and pardon his over-possessiveness as seeking maternal warmth.

One simply does not endure a past like that then venture on in life as a refined gentlemen.

They all have their flaws. Slight imperfections that were much like the tiny little cracks on fine china- not significant enough for the product to be labelled a defect, however visible to the knowing eye.

Little did the inspectors know, that the tiny crack on their proud creation would grow and expand until it shatters one day, leaving split tea in its owner’s lap, and slicing the hand of whoever was naive enough to clean the broken remains.

 

 

 

 

\----------

 

 

 

 

Bond watched Tiago change with fascination, glass of scotch beside his wrist.

The man was truly an awe-inspiring specimen. His lightly-muscled form resembles nothing but sheer power to the trained eye. It was nothing of the superfluous, showy kind- but dense, compact muscles that were sculpted with specialised stamina and hand-to-hand combat training.

Bond isn’t picky, he appreciates beauty be it in the masculine or feminine form. He has already made several subtle attempts to take the impeccable agent to bed, said attempts were always cut short when they turned into full-fledged assaults- both men fighting for dominance.

It’s not that Bond opposed the idea of being bottom, his towering ego just wanted himself to come out on top.

Watching Tiago change from pyjamas into the 00 garb was like witnessing a panther shed his camouflage. His hands dripped with the blood of his prey, his eyes gleamed with the charm of a man who had seen and danced with death.

It would have been a crying shame if he was left to rot in that orphanage. He was born to be an agent, to infiltrate and sabotage operations, shoot and dodge bullets. It’s probably a good thing that M discovered him first, otherwise there’s no telling what he’ll end up doing.

Bond had to shift around and throw a cushion over his erection. Tiago had briefing in half an hour and he was a man of timely presence. Therefore instead of smashing something to distract the 00, then throw him off balance when he’s least expecting it, Bond sits back with his scotch and continues to enjoy the strip-tease before him.

Time is of the essence, he is only collecting interest.

“So, _Mr. Bond_ -” It was well-established between them now, that whenever Tiago was addressing him by last name he was either teasing or very, _very_ angry. Bond has yet to determine the nature of this conversation.

“It appears to me that you’ve decided to take on some extra-curricular side jobs.” Tiago states while buttoning his shirt. He was definitely teasing.

Bond dully notes how Tiago’s probably the only one he’s seen in his thirty years of life that can pull-off a flashy print like that.

“If this is about Tom, I’ve already told him I found nothing.” Bond isn’t fazed in the slightest.

“Of course you didn’t. Did he think I was challenged?”

Tiago ducked into the ensuite, emerging seconds later with some product in his hands. He massaged it into his hair and combed it back loosely.

“You should cut it. Is the extra appeal really worth the bother? You'd look fine without it.”

Tiago only waved a solo finger in Bond’s direction.

“ _Tsk, tsk,_ James. I’m seeking _perfection_.”

A moment of silence stretched between them.

“Though the fact that you found nothing doesn’t mean I didn’t _do_ anything.” Bond rose an eyebrow at the unexpected confession.

“Careful what you admit to, _Mr Rodriguez_. There are many things that could go wrong, even in your position. You never know who could be on the other side of the wall.”

Tiago ceased movement, he approached Bond with two long strides. Bond was previously sitting on Tiago’s bed, he had his back propped against the headboard and his drink resting on the covers. He lifted his drink, only narrowly avoiding a spill when Tiago sat down without warning.

“I ought to do something about it then… Divert, or perhaps maim this curious little rat. He’s been such a nuisance.” Tiago’s tone was gentle, he traced a finger along Bond’s collarbone with tenderness Bond wanted to destroy.

“Or perhaps he wouldn’t go running to the authorities, after all I’m all that he is familiar with in this foreign land. It’s the most potent kind of poison, _familiarity_.”

“You are awfully sure of yourself.” Bond taunts. Tiago has on his most infuriating Cheshire cat grin. Bond wants nothing more than to wipe it off his face.

“Only because of the confidence _you_ keep giving me. You act so self-assured but let’s face it you _need_ me. You feel trapped in that skin of yours. You keep telling yourself that you do this for Queen and Country, or maybe you once did- but that’s long behind you. You seek the thrills that working with MI6 can offer you, and you worry that it’ll be nothing compared to _this_ once you head back, but rest assured little rat- you have such a long and promising career ahead of you.”

“You saw straight through me and my self-proclaimed love of country.” Bond response dripped with sarcasm.

001 is a shameless hypocrite. He was recruited personally by M, therefore easily gaining her favour once he was competent enough. His career represents the archetypal 00. Whereas Bond wasted precious years crunching numbers, hunched up in the study of Skyfall lodge with a private tutor and his lash. After that he had been practically prisoned in a boarding college until he was expelled for violating curfew. Up until a point in his life all he received from others were disappointed glances.

“You know nothing about feeling trapped.”

Tiago took more offense to the remark then what should be logical.

“I know nothing? Believe me- I know _all there is_ to it. There’s no denying how debilitating it is. It affects you slowly at first, but then gathers its pace. You try to tame it, try to escape but nothing works. The fools around you congratulate you for your _success_ , little do they know about the strings bound to your limbs. You are contained inside a hand that is slowly squeezing shut, and that’s all your life _ever_ will be.”

“Then why do you cling to her so pathetically?” Bond immediately regretted his choice of words. It’s probably best for him to stop talking, but then again his lousy self-restraint and sassy temper is something he’d likely take to the grave with him.

“Tom has told me a lot about you and your unhealthy obsession. It’s a miracle no one else is seeing it for what it is. You are absolutely miserable here, yet you refuse to let her go so you dream up these extra assignments for yourself at the expense of others.” Tiago remains dangerously close, Bond is suddenly conscious about the hand that is still resting somewhere near his throat.

 “Careful what territory you venture into _Mr. Bond_. You don’t understand a thing.”

“You are right I don’t. You are stunting your potential here. Why can’t you just leave-”

The headboard behind him shook from the force of Tiago slamming his fists into it.

“Don't-” Tiago emphasises. “ _ever_ bring this up again.” He grabbed his suit jacket and left without another word, leaving Bond sitting there alone with the glass half empty.

He eventually got up and stepped onto the balcony, lighting a cigarette with shaky fingers.

Bond had quit the habit after Tiago mentioned it would affect his stamina. Smoke escaped from his mouth, he surveyed the foreign skyline of Hong Kong.

To hell with Tiago.

 

 

 

 

\----------

 

 

 

 

It would take another fourteen years and a dead head of command in his arms before everything made sense to him. Sometimes obsession is just a twisted form of passion.

After years spent following M’s orders Bond would grow fond of the woman himself. Having lived under her protection for so long Bond was reluctant to admit that he was jealous.

Jealous of a mixture of things. How M rescued Tiago from destruction when no such thing happened to Bond when he was orphaned. How M tolerated Tiago’s occasional tantrums when Bond had to fight tooth and nail to impress his superior, all whilst trying his best to make it appear effortless.

Most importantly, he was jealous of M. She had Tiago’s love, whole-heartedly: something Bond could _never_ obtain. Tiago adored him too, of course. But in a different way, like a child would adore a toy.

All these years later, even after the name James Herbert Bond would be replaced by a code on official documents, he’d still sleep on foreign beds and make love to strangers with cold passion. Familiar shades of chestnut-brown would flash across his vision, forcing him to remember the feeling of having those soft locks tangled between his fingers.

They all want the things they can’t have.

Bond remembers a line from a film he once liked.

_"All a man needs in this life is someone to love. If you can't give him that, give him something to hope for. If you can't give him that... give him something to do."_

That’s all he was to Tiago from the start. _Something to do_. Tiago was bored and at wits end.

Being severely under-challenged was like adding straws to a camel’s back. One-by-one, day-by-day. The load becomes heavier- slowly, painfully, and often without the camel’s realization.

Tiago was born and raised in the orphanage. Plucked from the hell-hole by M herself, he owed his resurrection to her. He loved her dearly, but with all the wrong methods, and in all the wrong ways.

Therefore he could never leave, no matter how bored or how under-challenged. There at Station H he had her favour, he had a purpose. Where else could he escape to?

M granted agent 001 life, and someday she would take that life away.

 

 

 

 

\----------

 

 

 

 

It was difficult to warm up their relationship again after the argument, if one can call the conversation brimmed with cold-anger that snuffed itself out before it could ignite- an argument.

Nevertheless the pair slowly got back to their routine. Bond’s departure was scheduled in three days, the previously unnecessary holiday was quickly becoming too short for his liking.

Though there was something that was slowly eating at Bond. Tiago had been so predictable, so tamed lately that Bond can’t help but feel something was boiling beneath the surface. Being a field operative has already seen Bond endure many potentially fatal scenarios. He could utilise his training, his sculpted persona all he wanted, but amidst the action, when he had his back pushed up against a wall and gun shots firing in the distance, his instinct has always been the most reliable.

And his instinct was telling him that something was very, very wrong.

Aside from carrying out his day to day activities as per usual, Tiago also started to spend awfully long periods in the study. His thick fingers would work deftly over the keyboard whilst his gaze remained firmly fixated to the LCD monitor.

Bond himself was never cut out for Q branch, his brain functioned far better when he was on the move. That fact never bothered him previously, but now it meant that he couldn’t assist Tiago with what he claims to be his next assignment.

Again, his instincts are telling him that this was not his next assignment at all.

The transition is approaching, both British, Chinese, and Hong Kong authorities were watching the event like hawks. It is highly unlikely that MI6 would allocate agents to meddle with government firewalls at a time like this, the ice is simply too thin to tread.

Bond watches Tiago type away furiously on his laptop, then imagines officers from CO19 busting in. Thankfully nothing has happened- not _yet_.

“You shouldn’t be doing this.” Bond levels one day.

Tiago looks up from his work, a concoction of alien codes and flashing monitors, expression seemingly neutral.

“When did you become a bore like everyone else?” His response was more of a statement than a question. Bond sighs in exasperation.

“This isn’t about impressing M, this is much bigger than that. Needless to say that after this period Station H is going to get relocated, probably to England. A few more months is all you have to wait.”

“Times like this is precisely why my work becomes important.” Tiago said rotating his monitor so that Bond could have a better view.

“The Chinese are hardworking people, they’d have brilliant hackers ten- or twenty years down the track, but for the time being their technology is outdated. All I’m doing is making sure that the transition is to carry out as smoothly as possible. That means keeping _all three_ parties in check."

Bond remarks sarcastically to himself. _So he’s meddling with three nations instead of one._

“Tiago you are one man-”

“One _very_ skilled man.” Tiago rebuts, attention drifting back to his work. “So far it’s working brilliantly, if a pin drops I’ll hear it then alert MI6 immediately- as an anonymous ally of course.”

Bond’s brows furrow in apprehension. He has an oddly foreboding feeling to all of this.

“I sure hope you know what you are doing.” Since he can’t do anything to help.

Tiago stretched his fingers and gives Bond a teasing smirk.

“James, when have you _ever_ seen me fail?”

 

 

 

 

\---------

 

 

 

 

The day before Bond’s departure, Tiago gets an assignment.

A legit assignment this time, from M herself.

Bond changed into his very own 00 trainee garb to match Tiago. He was thankful that the brunet chose something simpler for him: a set of silver jacket and trousers matched with a light blue shirt, and didn’t just throw him something from his own wardrobe. Their build was simular but Bond wasn’t sure if he’d want to risk looking like a Triad mobster instead of a well-represented government agent- a fine wire which Tiago always seemed to dance across with ease.

Bond’s suitcase was on his bed, packed- but still open for him to dump in toiletries last minute. His plane leaves at six in the morning which should give him enough time to come back and change.

When he got on the vehicle Tiago comments on how Bond was cutting this awfully close, Bond told him to shut up and drive.

They arrive at their destination without trouble. Their brief this time was to simply gather more information on the Huang Long clan, build up their dealing records. Tiago was to go in as his usual persona, the one he used on the docks to obtain the first batch of cocaine. Bond was to stay close, monitor his process from the adjacent building, come to Tiago's aid should he need it.

They also had backup stationed five minutes away. Bond rolled his eyes despite knowing they could never risk stationing backup too close, it would become obvious like a painted bullseye. Though why they still bothered was beyond him: if the deal was to go tits up, Tiago had thirty seconds flat to evacuate or so or he’s not getting out at all.

Fatality rates were high, but then again this rate is reflected by a 00 agent's equally high paycheck.

As soon as he and Tiago parted ways Bond sunk into the night like a trained carnivore: sneaking around stationed guards with practiced ease and positioning himself opposite the room that Tiago usually dealt in. The room had a single window which had its view obscured by heavy curtains, it was on the fifth floor, only a level beneath the rooftop Bond was stationed at. At this range he could practically jump the distance.

He waited several minutes before there was sound coming from the room. Tiago was probably still going through security checks. Bond saw a man open the window to let in some fresh air, it reeked of cigarette smoke from even where Bond was hunching.

He immediately noticed that something was off, the men inside the room weren’t counting cash or engaged in a game of mah-jong. Some of them were seated, but they were all armed and positioned in a semi-circle facing the door. The window was closed again and the curtains drew shut.

Bond curses to himself.

He had to warn Tiago, but the man wasn’t wearing an earpiece or anything because the mobsters would find it in an instant. He couldn't even snipe any of the men, Tiago wasn’t in sight yet, Bond remembered the rough placement of the men but he wasn’t confident he could take them all out. There were bound to be countless more inside the building, they’d be firing at close range too. In the narrow confinement of the apartment block Tiago wouldn’t know what hit him.

Bond had seconds to think, any minute now they’d finish Tiago’s security check and allow him into the building. Spiralling up the staircase would take up another minute- tops, then Bond would be left waiting in dread for their conversation to end and for gun fire to start. Which by then Tiago would’ve probably already been shot into a beehive.

Despite it being well into the small hours of the morning, Hong Kong’s summer night air was still unpleasantly humid. He was starting to feel restless, but Bond squashed the feeling and kept this eye glued to the window. The curtains were made of a thick fabric, however repeated wash and old age saw some light seep through it. Shadows danced across its surface as men shifted behind it.

Something clicked inside Bond’s mind.

He immediately sprung from position, retreating back down the route he came from. He had not a second to spare if he was going to pull this off. Waiting for the guards to make their rounds was frustrating enough without being pressured for time, but after a few risky moves he’d successfully avoided confrontation and landed onto the streets.

Once he was sure he wouldn’t be heard Bond hit the ground running. Outside he was focused and moving quickly, on the inside he was silently keeping count. Tiago was definitely inside the building now. He had a minute.

Sixty. Bond kept low, shrouding himself with darkness.

Forty. He couldn’t find what he was looking for on the front and side facades of the building, it was probably at the back.

Twenty. He managed to find the small metal box, it was poorly fixed to the wall, paint peeling off around it. There were three guards stationed around it, Bond can’t say he’s surprised.

Ten. He took them all down with a silencer attached pistol.

Five. Bond flipped the power switch.

The suddenly blacked-out building stirred with angry mobsters. Inside Tiago was almost up the last flight of stairs when the light source suddenly vanished. A group of three was escorting him to the room. Moonlight seeped through a small window was now all that lit up the cluttered stairwell. The men looked at each other and gave a nod of understanding, two split off to investigate whilst the remaining man jolted the gun he had pressed against Tiago’s back, urging him to keep moving.

Tiago shrugged, he kept climbing the stairs. It took him three more steps to suddenly spin around and grab the gun barrel with his left hand. He threw a punch with his right, it all happened too quickly for the man to even hope to respond, he was sent backwards clutching his broken nose, causing him to miss a step and fall down the ungodly steep flight of stairs.

If he only went to MI6 training, the first thing they tell their agents would always be to keep their weapon at least two arm’s length away.

Men from the room upstairs came out to investigate upon hearing the loud crash. Tiago emptied his gun shooting into the room, an act more to provide cover fire for his escape than to lethally maim anyone. He hurled himself into a random room a short distance down which was thankfully unlocked, apparently a bedroom. Three armed mobsters rushed into the room just in time to see him slip out the window. Tiago took a free fall at first, then quickly caught onto an air-conditioning unit to slow the momentum. Bullets sailed past his back, he searched for the younger agent upon landing, what he saw instantly brought a smile to his lips.

Bond had the car engine started and was sounding the horn at the front of the building, he had already ran a couple of men down, the bullet-proof vehicle providing him with much-needed protection. Tiago climbed on board and Bond hit the acceleration paddle hard, sending another men flying across before exiting the street with a sharp turn. The rear bumper made an ugly screeching noise, despite being bulletproof, the heavy firing had already cracked several windows of the vehicle, but they were out.

Tiago tried to calm his breathing on the back seat, he got up from the unrefined position he ended up in, then started to fix his hair with the rear-view mirror.

Bond gave him a look which told him he must be joking.

“Any idea what that’s about?” Bond asked, eye glancing in all directions as he drives.

“It seems our little encounter at the docks did get to the wrong ears after all.” Tiago sighed, seemingly unfazed. He started to pull open hidden compartments and gear himself.

“Is no one else actually doing their job in Station H but you?” Bond made another turn which saw them merge onto the highway.

“By the way shouldn’t you be calling for backup?”

“If backup wanted to come they would’ve contacted _me_ by now.” Tiago gestures towards the silent car radio. Bond’s stomach drops, that was _very_ true.

“We need to change vehicles, company issued cars are loaded with bugs. I did a sweep when I received it but I was forbidden from removing the tracker.”

It was precisely that moment police cars chose to join them on the highway.

“ _Bloody fantastic_.” Bond was previously cruising at a speed of fifty miles an hour, upon hearing the sirens blast it was instantly boosted to seventy five and advancing in a ‘S’ formation.

Those, however, were not standard issue police vehicles. They matched Bond’s speed with little trouble, though some had already crashed due to Bond’s reckless driving, the light early morning traffic allowed many of the cars to tail Bond, even if barely.

“ _PULL OVER IMMEDIATELY, THIS IS AUTHORISED POLICE, PULL OVER IMMEDIATELY_.” A man yelled out with loud speaker. Both Tiago and Bond frowned at this.

It was heavily accented and broken, but it was in _English_. They knew who they were, yet they are still pursuing them.

Tiago rolled down the window and started firing, the unsettling feeling in Bond’s chest was growing by the minute. Tonight is probably not going to end well.

The police behind them were closing in. Two vehicles pulled up to either side of Bond with the rest remaining close behind, they wanted to corner Bond by getting a few cars ahead of him too but so far Bond hasn’t given them the chance. Tiago managed to take out the car to their right by killing the driver with a head shot. Bond knew they couldn’t keep this up forever, the cars were increasing in numbers and they had a helicopter now trained on them as well.

“Tiago, I have a plan!” Bond shouts amidst the chaos.

“Well then go with it!” Tiago spares no time in taking out the vehicles to the other side.

Bond was going at nearly eighty five miles per hour now, how he hasn’t managed to crash and kill himself yet along with Tiago is beyond him, so far he has definitely been outperforming all his training, but Bond knew his luck is bound to run out soon. He took a sharp turn into a familiar side street, losing three police vehicles and taking out his right rear-view mirror in the process.

Unlike the mayhem it’s in during daylight, the docks of Hong Kong at night is a quiet place. Nothing but the gentle sound of waves washing against boats could be heard until a loud crash woke the peaceful serenity. Bond came bursting through temporary fencing, police sirens blasting behind him.

“Tiago lose everything on you that isn’t essential and get ready to swim!” Bond was driving single handedly whilst trying to wiggle out of his jacket. If he was looking he’d probably discover shock on Tiago’s face for the first time since they’ve meet. The brunet agent tossed his gun aside and kicked off his shoes.

Within seconds they were heading for the sea in an unwavering straight line. The vehicle raced off the concrete path and drove along the wooden planks until in plummeted engine-first into the water.

What remained behind them was a confused mess of uniformed police, they searched the area with torch light, crossing light rays shooting from the helicopter. Eventually jets joined them in the search, but the Westerners were nowhere to be seen.

 

 

 

 

\----------

 

 

 

 

Bond resurfaced on the other side of the docks, Tiago’s waist in his hands. Bond was ever thankful about the underwater stamina training he received at the navy. If he had the energy he’d be proud that he was finally able to beat the 00 at something.

Both men heaved themselves onto the concrete, collapsing in exhaustion. The previously unpleasant summer heat was now a welcomed addition in their sodden state. It was Tiago who got up first, he pulled Bond up to his feet then told him to stay close. It would be another forty five minutes of jogging before the brunet agent unlocked a reinforced garage door.

Inside was nothing out of the ordinary. Bond followed Tiago through a trap door and was greeted with a modestly furnished room stocked to the brim with supplies.

“Do you keep hidden stashes like this conveniently close to everything?” Bond striped to his underwear, soiled clothing tossed carelessly all over the place and sank into a single bed pushed to the corner of the room, too worn to even remove the dust cover.

“Paranoia save lives.” Tiago replied as he gingerly lowered himself onto a chair, his ribs ached with pain.

Silence stretched across the room, Bond was about to fall asleep when Tiago said something else.

“The officers in the police vehicles, they were speaking _Mandarin_ to each other.” That pulled Bond’s attention back to the realm of reality immediately.

“That’s what they speak in mainland China.” Bond states, analysing every detail.

“They spoke English to us too, they knew who we were, presumably who we work for. It’s also rather peculiar that we were on the highway leading a car chase for nearly thirty minutes, yet no local police _or_ MI6 operatives showed.”

“ _Tommy_.” Tiago spat out after a long pause, murderous gleam in his eyes.

“That’s impossible.” Bond rebuts. “I told him nothing, he has no evidence against you.”

“He was always a paranoid little brat. I killed his predecessor because he would’ve figured out who took the equipment eventually. Honest to whichever deity is listening, I really was going to let him live if he would just keep his mouth _shut_. He’s afraid I’ll kill him too.” Tiago had his face buried in his palm, choking back laughter that sounded suspiciously close to a sob.

“He ratted to mainland police first.” Bond spoke, overwhelmed with sudden realisation. “He probably caught glimpses of what you were doing, this isn’t the first time you’ve hacked into their system. He knew that MI6 would never listen to him so he bargained with mainland police. Have them approach MI6 first, it would provoke them to investigate the issue more thoroughly. There are so many variables, so many things that could go wrong, all it takes is for MI6 to find _one_ clue…

“They were sending you to _slaughter_. They knew the Triad caught wind of our previous encounter, yet they set you up for another deal. If I weren’t here tonight you would’ve walked into that room and got shot. You might be a 00 but you are not bullet-proof, even if you manage to escape there’d be no backup coming and you would’ve bled away to death on some side walk. Headline tomorrow: _Westerner discovered dead on the street, local authorities haven’t a clue who to blame!_ ”

Tiago was silent, when he removed his face from his palm there was no expression, let along emotion.

“What are we going to do next?” Bond inquires, waiting for instruction.

“We?” Tiago frowns.

“Well- I’m not going to leave you like this.” Bond frowns back. “Especially since Tommy would’ve ratted me out too. We are in this mess together.”

“No, James, Tommy doesn’t hold anything against you. He probably thinks you are some misled junior who was used by me but still hasn’t noticed. Plus, he was in the holding cell when we first met, if he exposed you he’d be put under the microscope too as our accomplice. Even if he was incapable of guaranteeing his own survival, you haven’t done anything that couldn’t be pardoned yet. If they arrest you just claim I used you, offered you personal training as a 00 or something. Sure you’d be fired from MI6 but there’s still hope for you...”

“‘Still hope’… _Listen_ to yourself Tiago. I am _not_ leaving. _End of discussion_.” Bond threw his hands into the air, frustration barely kept in check. “We are _not_ having this argument, we should be resting and gathering our strength for tomorrow.”

Tiago rose from his seat, he was on top of Bond in an instant, pinning the younger agent onto the bed.

“You listen to me, James Herbert Bond: if you stay with me you’d probably get killed, and that’s the best case scenario. It’s either certain death or running for the rest of your life as a fugitive.” Tiago said those words slowly, as if he’s afraid Bond would miss them.

Bond arched an eyebrow at him.

“ _Then let’s start tonight_.”

Tiago pulled Bond into a teeth-crushing kiss. Bond was caught off-guard but he returned the fiery kiss with equal passion. They kissed like they wouldn’t live to see another sunrise. Who knows, they probably won’t. Bond wonders if it was in his nature to feel _this_ alive when he’s so close to death.

A soft click pulled Bond back to reality.

Tiago was off him instantly. Bond laid on the bed bewildered, a cold sensation pressed against his wrist. In his tired state he hadn’t noticed a small metal loop that was on the wall near the headboard, now he was cuffed to it.

Bond cursed loudly and tugged violently as the restraint. The loop was no doubt welded into steel support inside the wall, plaster cracked around it but the loop wouldn't budge. In his correct state of mind Bond would wonder if it was strategically placed there to restraint fugitives, sadly, he’s currently much too occupied.

“Tiago Rodriguez, you are not going to last a day out there on you own! You have _armies_ of them coming after you. Let me go, you _need_ me!”

Tiago quickly gathered all the supplies he needed into a black satchel, then changed into fresh clothing, oblivious to Bond’s plea. Bond’s gaze burned holes into the man’s back. How could he leave him like this? He isn’t protecting him, he is pushing him away. Bond is only safe when he’s around Tiago, surly he understands that.

“Tiago… _Please_.” Bond was repulsed by the desperation in his own voice, but that got Tiago to pause. The brunet agent stood with his back facing him still. Something tells Bond that this is the last time he will ever see the 00 again.

“Mr. Bond.” Tiago’s voice was cold and distant. “Go home. This is not your fight.”

With those final parting words he zipped the satchel and left, shutting the soundproof garage door behind him.

“You coward!” Bond shouts. “Is this how you want to leave? Look at me when you are speaking to me!”

Only the deafening silence of solitude answered him. Bond collapsed against the wall. It took him twenty seconds to remember he had a wire hidden somewhere inside his suit jacket, five to retrieve the jacket with his toes, and another ten to open the standard issue police handcuffs with shaky fingers.

By then Tiago was long gone.

 

 

 

 

\----------

 

 

 

 

Bond now understood why Silva pretended like he didn’t know him. He was a testament: a testament to what was the last of agent 001’s golden days.

Those were the days Raoul Silva wanted to forget, but couldn’t, so he spent years on that island of his dying his hair artificially blond and plotting revenge.

Bond wondered how comfortable M would’ve been if she knew about their complicated past.

It was probably a good thing that M wasn’t around when he first discovered the true identity of Raoul Silva. Thank goodness he was sitting down too, his heart was threatening to jump out of his chest. That or his heart had stopped beating for a while, it was hard to tell in his state of shock.

As far as MI6 is concerned, he and Silva were complete strangers. No one ever suspected otherwise. Silva was a senior 00 at the time and Bond a promising fresh recruit. MI6 couldn’t possibly keep track of all their less-significant, junior agents. Vacation forms were lodged, plane tickets were booked and that was that. Times were simpler.

Bond had no doubt if MI6 wanted to investigate, his little undocumented escape would be under magnifying glasses within an instant, but no one ever checked.

Bond, now well-used and worn around the edges, often wonders if the years have done him more harm than good.

Fourteen years ago, during that heated summer in Hong Kong Bond would’ve _never_ hurt Tiago. The man was stealing from his own company and hacking government intelligence yet Bond tried nothing more than gentle persuasion.

After he returned to England he emailed Tiago the second he got off the plane to make sure he was alright. He would’ve rang, but even incompetents could figure out that MI6 will bug his home phone. Tiago laughed at him and told him that he will stop checking his email soon, try to stay off the radar for a while. He said he’d let Bond know when things are quiet again, but he never did.

Fourteen years later Bond threw a knife into Raoul Silva’s unprotected back.

Did he have no feelings anymore?

No, still had them alright. Grief wrenched his heart every time he recalls what he had done. He had chosen to leave so many things behind. Those things weren’t like the lovers he’d never contact again after one-night-stands, they were much more personal. Like how he never returned to Skyfall lodge after joining the navy until he needed somewhere to hide, like how he dropped Vesper Lynd’s necklace into the snow after her death, or how he attended M’s funeral, then returned to work and addressed Mallory by his new title without hesitation.

It’s a fragile balance to tie one’s sense of identity, or sense purpose to a single person. People were nothing but flesh and bones. That’s why agent 007 allows himself to love Queen and Country with such heated passion. People had frail existences, they’d leave you without warning.

They all need something to love. Queen and Country is something he could love forever.

Or so he hoped. His once proud physique is deteriorating at a rate he can’t slow down. That bullet on the train took away years of work agent 007 could have done out on the field. He was expected to retire within five years, the service period of field agents, even 00’s were never long.

After that what would he do? Take up a desk job? Who was he fooling? He never performed well crunching numbers. Is that what he wanted to end up as? Old, bitter, lonely, and out-dated? His retirement fund would afford a life of luxury for him, but that’s not what he wanted.

He needs something more than Queen and Country now. Perhaps that's why he threw the knife a little off-center, that faithful night inside his ancestral home.

 

 

 

 

\----------

 

 

 

 

Bond sat in the driver’s seat, his breakfast forgotten beside him.

He pulled out his phone and opened his email, typing in an address he thought he would never use again, yet still recalls with absurd clarity. He had contacted this account so many times when he first came back. Months passed with no reply, then years. Finally Bond gave up, coming to the conclusion that Tiago would never respond again. He dived into his work after that.

 _How did you get caught?_ The email ended in a single line.

Just like before, Bond wasn’t sure if he will get a response. He quickly ate his breakfast then drove to work. He had a meeting with Ms. Moneypenny, then M was going to brief him on his new assignment. Everything would continue normally from now on.

His phone vibrated indicating a new incoming email.

Bond jammed his foot onto the brakes, the car behind him loudly sounded its horns then over took him. The 00 agent quickly searched for a parking space, his heart was beating so vigorously it could break out of his rib cage any moment.

He opened his email again, on the top of the list sat a sender named Tiago Rodriguez.

Bond felt something threatening to leave his eyes, he blinked them away.

 _I tried to see her. Never made it past the front gate._ Read the one line response.

 _Fool._ Bond wrote, though before he could send it he erased it. Silva was alive, what was he doing, having a chat with the man? He should contact authority, alert M.

 _MI6 can go to hell,_ _along with Mallory._ Bond laughed at the rebellious thought inside his head, he had missed that voice, the voice of his younger self.

Bond wondered if Silva still held a grudge against MI6. The answer was most definitely yes. After all MI6 took away what was the best years of his life, then gave him up. But he probably wasn’t dangerous to them anymore. Silva had wanted closure, and he got it, one way or another.

 _Fool._ He sent the message this time.

Silva took a bit longer to respond. Bond decided to park the car, he was close to the new headquarters already. He could cover the rest of the distance by foot.

Just as he was about to enter MI6 his phone vibrated again, but this time there was an incoming call, caller ID unknown. Bond picked up.

“Good morning, James.” Bond would recognise that voice anywhere.

“Morning.” His voice was flat, giving nothing away as per usual.

“ _Ah_ James, that was cold.”

“You would know all about the cold, won’t you? Considering that your men shot me into a frozen pond.” Bond's level tone was serious, however his face was smiling.

“You shot _yourself_ into the pond, _Mr. Bond_. What did I teach you about unknown variables?” For some reason Bond could tell Silva was smiling too. Fellow operatives eyed him strangely, conscious of his unusually good mood.

“Well, it was the uncertainty of death by drowning, or the certainty of death by gun shot. It wasn’t hard putting one and one together.” The conversation between them flowed with surprising ease. Soon enough Bond was passing by Q branch.

Inside the glass encrusted workshop sat one very concentrated quartermaster, he had a half-dismantled laptop sitting on the bench beside his own functioning laptop, several data cords connected the two advanced pieces of technology together.

After the turmoil which was seen as one of the most deadly breaches of national security in British history, MI6 was having a period of peaceful tranquillity. There were still missions being assigned of course, however they were nothing too major. This break from the monstrous work-load previously saw many operatives take up side jobs for self-entertainment. The authorities noticed this pattern in employees however they chose not to act as long as they were still in line.

Bond almost choked back a laugh. Q was _still_ working on it.

The perfection of which Silva’s master escape plan -involuntarily assisted by Q-  was carried out dealt a powerful blow to the quartermaster’s fragile ego. He has admitted the man’s genius and that he still have ample to learn. Since then he had dismantled, then reassembled the ex-agent’s laptop multiple times, took apart its intricate coding one layer at a time. The more he studied the man’s work the more he was intrigued by it.

Other members of Q branch gave each other a knowing shrug, their quartermaster probably won’t be back to work- _real_ work, anytime soon.

“What’s the matter James, did I miss a joke?”

“It seems the cunning ex-00 turned cyberterrorist has gained himself a new fan.” Bond teases, leaving Q branch.

“Our young quartermaster seem quite taken with your planned escape.”

“Oh- the one who broke the first few layers of my code, then laid out that trail of bread crumbs for me to find? Clever kid, I should meet him someday.”

“He’d be over-joyed.” Or absolutely mortified, depending on the situation.

Soon he was on top of the roof, spectacular morning sun rising before him. A flag of the union-jack flies proudly in the air to his right. Maybe this was God’s attempt to make him feel guilty, but Bond had no intention of turning Silva in. He had already killed the man once in the name of Queen and Country, what more could they want from him.

He is but one man.

“Listen, I’ve got to go. I’m expecting someone soon.” Bond states reluctantly. The conversation was too short for his liking, once he let Silva go there’s no telling if the suave bastard will ever contact him again.

“James…” Silva’s voice was calm, but there was something else boiling beneath the surface.

“I’ve _missed_ you.”

Bond blinked several times, it really wasn’t fair, how the man still had such a controlling grip on him after all those years. For once Bond wanted to mend a relationship instead of letting it go.

“Plus I’m sick and _terribly lonely_. All thanks to you and your lovely aim.” Bond laughs, his laughter could even be heard from where Ms. Moneypenny was emerging from the stairs.

“How about we meet up again? Text me an address, I’ll bring over Chinese.” Bond was quiet for a few moments, listening to the response of whoever it was on the other side of the line.

“It’s a _date_.” With that said he cut the line.

“Who was _that_? I’m not sure if I’ve ever heard you laugh like that.” Ms. Moneypenny inquires.

“An old friend.” Bond turned to face her, his lips still curled broadly into a smile.

“ _Recently resurrected_.”

Ms. Moneypenny studied the uncharacteristically happy agent for a moment, silently wishing him luck before changing the subject. He has gone through so much, he deserved happiness.

“You know her will was read today. She left you this.” She said handing him a small box. It was nothing too special, matte black surface, unwrapped body. It came with a name card on the front.

 _Oliva Mansfield_. To James Bond.

Bond stood mesmerised. There is something peculiar about the little box in his hand.

Their beloved leader was only ever referred to as her code name. How fitting is it that only in death does she deem it appropriate for her to expose her true identity. It engulfed Bond in an eerie surrealism, yet this was probably as close as the deceased M has ever gone to being a real person.

Bond opened the box. Inside it sat a proud-looking porcelain bulldog. The union-jack draped across its shoulders glistened in the morning sun. They were never particularly friendly with each other, their interactions remained strictly professional for years before even the smallest snippet of jokes began to surface. Yet in this last parting gesture she gives him a _gift_. It was not quite the exchange expected of a commander to her loyal subject, and even more far-fetched from Tiago’s delusional metaphor of mother to son.

It was almost if she was trying to pass off as his _friend_.

It marked not the end of M, for M lives on in the form of a middle-aged man with a head of brown hair that was beginning to bald. It marked the end of Oliva Mansfield, her life, and her mundane fatality.

“Maybe it’s her way of telling you to take up a desk job.” Ms. Moneypenny smiled in fond memory of the deceased Oliva Mansfield.

“Quite the opposite.” Bond smiles back.

That is the only place they will find her now, inside their memories.

Bond remembers the morning after that faithful night, where only one body remained in their family church for MI6 to discover. He briefly contemplates if he should bring this to dinner, just for the sake of flaunting it in Silva’s face, but decides against it.

Jealousy will do a man no good. He’ll probably just dump it in storage. After all he had always _hated_ the bloody thing.

Him and Silva, they were mirror reflections, contaminated versions of light and shadow. Bond isn’t sure how long his friendly relationship with Silva would last, and he has every reason to believe the whole thing would just end in another disaster, but for the time being dinner awaits.

Agent 007 of MI6 is not sentimental, however James Herbert Bond _is_.

Bond is convinced that he and Silva were doomed to torture each other for eternality, and he is okay with that.


End file.
